


His Universe

by senttothebrink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panick Attack, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 14:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senttothebrink/pseuds/senttothebrink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being corrupted wasn't enough. Having his sanity shattered didn't go too far. Shedding himself to the souls of monsters in a world far away didn't mean anything. Losing the only thing that made him free and light and beautiful fluid, the only thing that made it possible to even consider living, was just right. <em>Penance.</em> The word is heavy in his stomach. Now, sitting there in the ice unbearably human and raw through seven layers of skin, he wonders how many pounds of flesh his grace was worth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Universe

Castiel stands in the snow looking up into the gray sky. Half his face is visible, eyes shown between a yellow scarf wrapped around his neck, chin, and lips and a black ski hat. He's bundled in a black puffed up jacket, gloved hands snug inside the pockets. His feet are sunk in a foot of snow whose chill isn't stopped by two pairs of pants and three pairs of socks. Despite all the layers, he's shivering from the cold.

He's familiar with the feeling but never knew it like this: sprawling in patches through seemingly ineffective clothes. Outer space was one thing. The cold up there was comforting. He felt himself convect through the void, filling up areas like a cloud of astral dust. The totality of it all buried him, made apart of the infinite, made his breath endless, his lungs expanding for years before finally exhaling. Here, on earth though, it's a different all consuming. Instead of being apart of the snow, Castiel is drowning in sea of white flakes that are intent on obscuring his vision by flying into his eyes. He tries to duck but the wind gusts down and over the snow top, sending a spray of glittery powder into his face. His lungs are quick to inhale and exhale. He feels like he can't get enough air.

For what it's worth, Castiel thinks the snow is aesthetically pleasing, but he doesn't actually like it. Doesn't like how isolated it makes him feel. How helpless against something that never used to affect him. Where once he could ignore, now he is immersed. It's terrifying to be so at the mercy of the weather. He remembers being in tune with the air currents, the water vapor freezing, molecules crackling in subzero temperatures, the dispersing of energy that the earth thrummed with constantly. Castiel remembers. He misses it horribly. His insides, most days, feel hollow. He is just a mechanical being, full of parts prone to rust, delicate, less fluid than he wants himself to be. He has lost a part of himself: grace, power, wings, the ability to feel the solar system beating in his head. He's lost and confused about where he is and why it's so hard to see and it's so cold, so very cold-

Without realizing it, his breath seizes, body flushed with fear, the sudden magnification of his existence reduced to uncertain intent and tired legs, weak flesh that yields to most everything. Castiel staggers forward unable to call out, his foot unable to escape the clawing white that forces his limbs to panic and tear desperately against their restraints. There's snow in his eyes, snow and so much white, so much of one color that he feels like he's boxed in on all sides. He's not a part of anything anymore. It's all white walls, prison, flesh, his body, _white white white, no escape-_

In his frantic struggling, Castiel trips and catches himself on his palms that splinter and knees that shatter against the iced over snow. The rush of cold is instant; it bites through his gloves, his pants, scarf, tears at his skin as though it were seeping in and wedging him apart with serrated edges. Ice scrapes against his face, invades his jacket through the opened collar, his exposed wrists because his gloves are lost somewhere behind him. Red hands scrabble numbly for purchase, fingers digging into the ice like razors under his fingernails.

Unbidden tears spring to his eyes that only make him shiver and choke on his breath. He's so confused, he could die, he could die right now in this box and he wants desperately to unfurl his wings but they're gone just like him. Every part of him that mattered, every molecule that made a difference has vanished. Castiel is gone somewhere and he doesn't know how to get himself back.

"Cas? Cas, where are you?!" 

He can't look up. His eyes are frozen shut and his joints frosted over. Through the whipping wind, the sound of boots crunching snow reaches him. He fears that he won't be seen, can't when he's blanketed down, sinking toward the permafrost ground. Castiel is crystalline, frigid like the thousands of flakes weighing tons upon tons piled on his back. It's so hard to move, harder still to inhale properly when he believes he's truly apart of the immaculate, mocking white and that those footsteps will go right past him. For one panicked moment, he is so certain they will because they sound directionless in their approach. First they move away, then closer, away again, until finally they move like they know where to find him.

"Hey C- ...Cas?"

Something hits the snow, another pair of knees and set of discarded gloves. Warm hands slip under Castiel's scarf to brush at his cheeks. They melt the ice turned hot against his red blotched skin.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Castiel wants to talk, but his lips are frozen. They're trembling blue, split open by the wind, bleeding blood that he can call his own. He can't open his eyes when the other man helps set him back on his heels. Castiel feels as lifeless as men who pray to a God they know isn't listening. Castiel's hands rest on his thighs. Tears drip warm and free down his face. 

"I...I didn't..." He starts. He's terrified about the box he believes he's in and shudders violently with the back of his wrist pressed to quivering lips.

"What happened, Cas?" The voice asks gently.

Somewhere deep inside Castiel there is something that hurts so much it makes him want to vomit. It twists in his stomach and expands to the point where he thinks he could burst. There's an acute tearing sensation pressing against the back of his ribs, bruising him, chanting wildly at every tumble and every scrape that humanity is inside him and it will always be there. 

"Hey," the voice is firmer now, "Cas. Look at me."

Castiel does, hesitantly at first. He finds Sam's face only inches from his with brow pinched slightly, the muscles around his mouth tense and waiting. He's not as bundled as Castiel though still wears layers with an added scarf and hat combo that matches Castiel's somewhat: it's plaid yellow and so very Sam. He would like to only concentrate on the innocuous things, harmless details that won't leave him wanting to withdraw from his body, withdraw himself until he's looking at an empty shell and Castiel can just walk way from it all. But he focuses, he focuses on Sam: his hair sticking out under a ski hat, his nose red with cold- it's funny that he's red when it makes Castiel blue, so blue, so frigid and breathless- then he remembers plaid yellow and Sam's want to connect with Castiel in any way possible. It almost makes him smile until Sam presses on,

"What happened?"

 _Destroyed. Overwhelmed. Defeated. Humanhumanhuman-_ Castiel bends in half, face in his hands, and _sobs_. His head is pounding and his eyes are screwed so tight he wonders if he'll ever be able to open them again. He doesn't want this. He doesn't want to be trapped. He regrets and he loves and he hates and he fears and it's tearing him apart and he's trapped- God, he's stuck and useless and _trapped-_ He needs to make someone understand even if he can't say it all at once.

"S-Sam-!" The sound is so pathetic Castiel has a hard time believing it came from him. But he doesn't know any other way to express how the pain twists inside of him, how all the cold is numbing and he hates not being able to feel anything, hates not being connected, _hates it hates it hates it-_

"I hate it-! I don't know how-" Now that he's human, finding the correct words are even more difficult. They sound disjointed on his tongue, senseless, and he curls further inward because he wants the action to make him compact. He wants to disappear from this feeling, from this body; he wants to collapse inward like a star. "I couldn't- breathe-" Castiel explains in a hushed voice, "I c-couldn't move- I-I didn't know where I- where I was and then," he rocks forward and back, elbows tucked in toward his stomach, hands gripping his arms, "I couldn't escape, I couldn't think-"

He hears Sam breathe out and move a little closer, 

"Sounds like you had a panic attack."

"I don't like it, Sam. I don't like this. I have never been so-" he looks up finally. His face is freezing but bereft of the panic it held before. A few slow tears drip and are lost to the snow. His lips tremble. He's on the verge of shattering again from the ever present fear in his blood that sticks like sharp thorns in his veins. "I'm afraid- I'm-" A rush of hysteric laughter escapes his lips, "I'm human and I'm afraid and the snow is cold, Sam. I have never known cold like this."

Sam doesn't say anything as Castiel is struck by another thrill of fear. This time the sensation breaks against the soles of his feet and scatters shards that stick like darts aimed for bulls-eyes painted everywhere inside of him: his heart, the back of his ribs, his lungs. He feels opened up inside, sliced by silver lightning and bursting gray stars. Castiel wants to claw at his skin to release all of it, let it spill over the perfect, perfect box he hates with every fiber of his being.

"I'm nothing- I destroyed everything and I-I'm trapped- I'm trapped here! I can't breathe, I can't- Sam, I can't- it's too cold, Sam, too cold- I can't feel anything-!"

His failing body is yanked to Sam's chest. Castiel immediately curls reddened fingers into Sam's jacket and sobs again loud, whimpering. It hurts his throat. He shuts down in the hunter's embrace, loses all control. Lips press hard to Castiel's temple again and again, frantic breath rough against his ear,

"Cas, listen to me, just- it's going to be all right, believe me. It's gonna be OK-"

"I can't feel the universe, Sam. I can't feel- without my grace-"

He lets Castiel's statement go unfinished becausehe ex-angel clings tighter in the silence. He releases his despair in a string of horrible thoughts cursing himself, fate, God, everyone. He was a soldier. He was going to help right his wrongs, he was going to restore heaven, bring balance back to a decidedly light-less world. If even one angel needed shelter, reassurance, comfort, then he would get their home back. The scorch marks of passed siblings seemed ingrained on the floors of their abode but Castiel would wash them clean. All of that time locked away would allow him to restructure and resettle and atone for things he couldn't before. But he followed a man whom he thought knew everything. He thinks about how it's always him getting tricked, manipulated into every single disaster, and as the price of his blind faith, he ends up entombed in a white box that feels about as wide as the back seat of the Impala.

Being corrupted wasn't enough. Having his sanity shattered didn't go too far. Shedding himself to the souls of monsters in a world far away didn't mean anything. Losing the only thing that made him free and light and beautiful fluid, the only thing that made it possible to even consider living, was just right. _Penance_. The word is heavy in his stomach. Now, sitting there in the ice unbearably human and raw through seven layers of skin, he wonders how many pounds of flesh his grace was worth.

Gradually he comes back from the terror of his panic. His limbs stop vibrating long enough to collect himself. So many wrong turns, so many ruined things: Castiel thinks being trapped here in this body is less of a consequence and more like repentance.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry."

The hunter whispers a faint 'forgive you' in his ear and Castiel is suddenly less aware of the snow and cold. He's keyed in to Sam's steady breathing, his body, his knees that are slotted between his, the hair at the nape of his neck that Castiel has been stroking for a god only knows how long. Sam's warm. So alive. Castiel wishes he could be aware again of the mechanics of Sam's body: every blood cell shipping off, scabs healing over, the minuscule expansion of his lungs when he's about to kiss him. Yet, he finds that real contact provides all the information he needs.

For instance, the fluttering heart Castiel hears. It's similar to the one when they're just laying together. The sound is soft, pleasant like the pulse of the earth in spring. It tells him Sam is living.

Sam's tan skin is reddened by winter yet it's similar to the times when Sam looks at him from over a book or after they're lying in their own sweat strewn over the bed sheets in Sam's room. He glows. Pink tints his cheek bones and shivers when Castiel touches. It tells him that he likes Castiel. A lot. 

His arms, they're the most telling things about him. Due to their length, Sam doesn't always know what to do with them yet when Castiel is near, he moves them around Castiel like they belong there and he knows it. They're tense when he's worried, soft when he's in love, seemingly humming with anticipation when he's upset. Right now, they're a mix of all three. Somehow Castiel just knows. 

There are worlds, Castiel realizes, and nebulae and stars and solar systems tucked under Sam's skin. They're beautiful; each one has a story, it's own way that works in conjunction with the others, and most importantly, their own way of letting Castiel in and letting him connect. 

In the quieting blizzard, when the flurry dies down and the wind isn't so harsh, Castiel wraps his arms completely around Sam as if the action pries his chest open and then his lungs. The ice melts and his panic flutters off like crows taking off from the bare branches of his ribs. It allows him to inhale Sam's soap bar scent and exhale the fear. He is loved here. Safe. Alive.

With eyes closed, mouth pressed to Sam's shoulder, Castiel, despite fearing the box of white surrounding them, focuses on their breathing, their bodies, those little shifts that describe their emotions without them being aware of it. Even though Castiel lost the angelic world, he gained something just as important, just as integral to his being as were his wings. 

"It's ok, Cas. I got you," Sam murmurs and kisses the part of his neck not covered by scarf, "I promise."

He gained a whole other world.

"Look around."

He gained Sam.

A few seconds pass and Castiel raises his head to infinite planes of white. The earth is bare but it's calm now and covered in untouched blankets of shimmering flakes that form to the dips in the ground. Not a thing can be seen underneath.

"You can make out that line of trees," Sam gestures with his chin. Castiel follows to a line of thick gray brown in the distance, "See? Over there is the meadow we passed..." As he continues pointing out shapes in the hazy white world, Castiel ends up leaning full against him, hands in his pockets rather than his own. He hardly notices how cold he is, instead chooses to focus on how Sam works. The rise and fall of his chest is even. His arms no longer quiver. His cheeks are sanguine. He talks of things that begin breaking down the endlessness around them. No longer is Castiel a void inside his own body, but slowly filling with star dust and white blue suns hidden under Sam's fingers that caress the hair way from Castiel's forehead.

By the time Sam is done, the world is no longer a box. It's sky and ground and trees and _Sam_ and so many little things Castiel will never forget to look for again. His world is broken and pieced together, made to make sense instead of incorporating him into the background of the world he once protected. Then he glances up at Sam with a curious expression on his face. 

"You are...captivating."

Sam dips his head with a small smile on his face,

"Um- Thanks."

"I mean it. I have never met anyone like you."

_You are strange._

"That's kind of a good thing."

_Extraordinary._

"Sam..." When Castiel's eyes flash with something that begs for understanding, the hunter's breath stills. He wants Sam to know so bad so leans forward for a slow, chaste brush of lips, "Thank you."

_For being my universe._


End file.
